Of Midnight Attacks
by SavvyNBrash
Summary: Jack has nightmares, sometimes. So bad that Will has to hold the man down. When confronted, he becomes angry...


Title: Of Midnight Attacks  
Author: Frost AND Kacey   
Rating: PG-13   
Summary: Jack has nightmares, sometimes. So bad that Will has to hold the man down. When confronted, he becomes angry...   
Disclaimer: We don't own them. But we have seen the movie more times than should be humanly possible.   
Archive: O_O Yes..! Tell us first, though.   
Authors notes: …Because we like angst? Affectionately called "Don't be a bitch, Will!"   
Oh yeah. Jack is played by Frost, and Will by Kacey.

**- - - Jack - - -:**      It was a quiet night, on the Pearl. The waves splashed softly against the hull of the ship, both lulling and rocking it's crew into a peaceful sleep. That's what the sea did to a sailor--comforted, on some level. The Captain's cabin was never truly pitch black. There were too many windows for that--and even with thick red drapes covering the glass, there was just no hiding the moonlight on some nights. Not for Jack's lack of trying anyway. Night had started innocently enough, of course, Jack had taken Will to his cabin fairly early--feigning sleepiness. A lie. Both the Captain and the Blacksmith had been playing a hard-to-get game all day (an occasional fun event they shared). Bedding- without any amount of sleep- had occurred. Now, though, both the cabin's occupants were asleep. Naked bodies were intertwined--Jack's own form pressed close against William's. Head was in it's favorite spot on the boy's shoulder, just underneath his chin. Arms--which were generally languid and floppy, were clinging to the other man--grimy finger nails digging unknowingly into the blacksmiths' waist. Legs couldn't seem to decide on what they wanted to do--one moment they were lax; happily intertwined with Will's the next, they were jerking angrily, as if attempting to kick. The sheets acted as a tie though, making it more than a little difficult to be free. Soft and incoherent murmurs would occasionally leave the captain's wind worn lips--breaking the silence in an almost unobtrusive way. The talking wasn't loud enough to be a bother. Not yet anyway. 

**- - - William - - -:**      It is not easy to stir anyone from that deeply sated lethargy following after some numerous sessions of a wickedly devilish lover's brand of intimacy. It is not easy at all. But if, in the case, that you are so attuned to that devilish lover, that your breathing matches theirs without thought, so attuned to that lover that you experience any pain that they separately suffer - then you might just rouse from your languorous lassitude of rest. Will felt Jack's tremors, though minor. He gently arched a flexible slope of back and tested the temperature of the room by licking his mouth - a taste of rum lingers here, but he had not consumed any the night before. Jack's flavor. Not yet awake, but his senses were aware, muddled but aware. "Mmmh." A breath rushed sleepily in, as though for a yawn that never finished. Will rolled his shape into the fidgeting warmth tangled in sheets, managing not to dislodge Jack's shadowed bristled cheek from his shoulder, knowing how his lover favored the spot and would fuss without the placement. But it seems fussing was going to happen no matter the pillow. "Sh." He drew his arms in around the writhing figure, pinning it more securely to his chest. Sometimes this worked - and other nights, Will would carry out duties during the next day with grey sockets circling eyes - exhausted from wrestling a restless Jack. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      It seemed then, that it would be one of those "other" nights. Jack Sparrow, so lost in his own mind and fumbling, didn't wake to fully note strong arms holding him closely, nor bother to hear the comforting noises emitted from Will. Instead, the dreaming pirate fought against his holder in a near-frantic manner. Nails scratched against the skin that was so close to his own (the only reason a whole hand didn't lash out was due to the fact that both were pinned because of the grip poor William had on him). Legs moved sharply, backward first to move the blankets out of his way and then forward--and the only thing that stopped him from kicking Will in the shin was those sheets. Jack let out a low moan (it's true emotion muffled by Will's own shoulder and their position in the bed) and a few negative words. "No," he would mutter out--almost pleadingly. That was something he said a lot on nights like these. 

**- - - William - - -:**      The amplification of those jarring movements drew Turner from sleep completely - luckily, right before the first nail grazed his skin, branding him with it's streak, searing evidence of Jack's torment into the boy for later discovery. That initial brief pulse of shock, Will's sinewy hold constricted, and then guilty released to a more gentle grasp - the damage inflicted upon him pushed aside easily - focused on the throes of a nightmare he couldn't see, but was responsible (self-appointed) for ending. Jack's rescuer. Every night and day that he got the chance. "Nnnh. Sh. Jack." Practiced at shaping his Captain's body, Will manipulated himself up, propping his back (now subtly sheened with sweat) against the head board and bringing Jack partially up with him, until the fitful villain was cradled in against his chest. Lips dip down with bowed head, a low throaty voice coos, there against Jack's temple. Another jerk of the body, clenches his arms in again, keeping them together. Never loosing that contact. "It's Will, Jack. Come home now." 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Hands pressed against Will's lower stomach, pushing with some bit of effort--as if to be free of the grip of his lover. Not that he was -aware- of it, by any means. "Nngh," Said Captain Jack Sparrow, caught in both nightmares, the arms of Will Turner, and sheets. Usually, Jack quieted by now. He'd surrender to strong arms, and after maybe a half an hour the Captain would be back asleep. No words of the exchange would be passed between the two men in the morning, and one would be left to wonder if Jack remembered doing it at all. Sometimes, those obsidian eyes were filled with so much -more- than mirth and ideas of rum. He must have known, honestly. But still, it was a secret he would never tell. The shorter man didn't stop on this night though, he let out a noise that was half between a scream and a yell--and one would go as far as to think that the Captain were resisting -murder- as opposed to the arms of a lover. And perhaps, in his dreams, he -was-. He squirmed violently in Will's embrace, dream-fevered body demanding to be set free. He'd fight for that freedom, it seemed. 

**- - - William - - -:**      Now an over imaginative mind was conjuring all the way's Jack could harm himself if this went on, if Will let go. To take Jack's wrists in his grasp would hinder most of the wildest striking, but it would leave Will without a grasp of the narrow bony hips that equally as twisted and bucked against any attempt to restrain them. Therefore, a mind far too sharply consciousness at this hour, deducted that the tortured pirate was beyond the reach of physical jolting, and he'd simply have to wait it out. Accepting the horrendous hours of aching pleas and thrashing attacks that were to come - and yet still knowing he'll never give up fighting the invisible. Takes the bruises and gashes without a pained grunt, only a hopefully connected mantra. "Jack." Jack. Wake from this nightmare. What has done this to you? Come back to me. Leave your haunting. "Who did this to you? Open your eyes. Damnit, Jack!" 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Unfortunately for William, Jack did exactly as he was asked. With another howl of anger, fear and pain all mixed into one, Jack Sparrow's eyes snapped open. They were haunted eyes, though. No warmth there at all. No secret mirth or goodness in the least. Cold. hard. Impenetrable. Most definitely not the eyes that William recognized. They flashed, and lips drew back into an angry snarl. Defensive, hurt. "Don't touch me!" Usually foppish and hyperactive digits moved up to slap away the hands that held onto him. Mean, unrecognizing. "No," he chanted out again--voice cold and so unlike himself. "Don't. I'll -kill- you." Hand that should have been loose and floppy formed into a fist, not even looking for a reason to strike out at the man--at William--he'd do it anyway. 

**- - - William - - -:**      And, with many other things you come to adapt to while sharing a relationship with Jack Sparrow, the man would do something unexpected, any victim in his path was forced into a completely different duel. A lover lost in nightmares was handled with less caution than a lover lost in reality, awake, and consumed with real horrible visions, emotion coursing through him without cause. There was a call for more aggression, a necessity to dominate and --_force_- a reluctant fighter to accept peace. " It's Will," Even as he pleaded this point, arms and legs are propelling him from his leant position, lifting up and cascading down again with Jack Sparrow pinned immobile under the firmly adamant pressure of a blacksmith's weight. Wrists collected up over his head by those blacksmith's confident hands, despite his displeasure in attacking the smaller man like this, confident that he was doing the right thing. Panting bursts, "Its William! William. Look at me, damnit! Jack." 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Jack stared up William for what seemed like ages--mouth open to show teeth of gold and cream in a near animalistic snarl. He struggled, of course, arms attempting to free themselves by tugging sharply against the grip. Hips bucked and squirmed, as well, but neither seemed to do the Captain very well. And finally--after an amount of time that passed by far too slowly to be measured correctly--Sparrow gave up the fight. All he was left with were those foreign eyes and angry snarls. Eyes that seemed to be losing the cold, and winding up just lost. Snarls that became more pleading than angry. He was begging now, all harshness gone. "Let me go," he pleaded one last time, his voice soft. Not Jack's either, but so much closer than that earlier angry tone. "Just don't touch me." It would honestly leave one to wonder exactly what the pirate captain was talking about. 

**- - - William - - -:**      Making no move of separation, Will balanced in a hover, cloaking Jack with his shadow and likewise, feeling that space between them flare with infused body heat from them both, flustered, fevered, pumping oxygen out in gasps and pants that unwound into rasping words. Will's echoing his partners with smoldering intensity, he was confused, and below that surface, he was offended and hurt. No. Jack isn't himself, something out of his control. But the repulsion in those four words were focused so precisely on the boy, brows couldn't help but slash together. "Do you not recognize me? Hear me. I shall not hurt you. Jack. Come home." Conscious of how brutal his vice-like grips on the thin, loose wrists were, so much more brutal now that they had ceased their threats, his fingers peeled back. Expression scarred by helplessness, the youth relocated the hands to either side of his Captain's chest, still keeping that weight down by leaning over. Hair limp and bed mussed around his face. "Who are you fighting." A question posed neither at Jack, nor at himself, merely announced with a tight apprehension toward the answer. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Softened pleading eyes of obsidian stared up in confusion for a long moment. Unfazed, unblinking. Just -looking-, as if trying to fully comprehend. After a time, then they closed and Jack let out a shuddering breath--it seemed to rack his whole body; he shivered. And then, those eyes opened up again, and although they were sad seeming, they were most definitely Jack's own. Regret played across his face, and then he opened his mouth to speak. His voice broke the silence and very nearly hurt his ears. "William." Complete recognition. There was no doubt that this was any other person beside Jack Sparrow. "I..." his glance moved past the blacksmith's face to take in their position. So it had come to this. A twinge of guilt crossed his features, but the smaller man couldn't bring himself to say anything more. 

**- - - William - - -:**      There was no room for subtly in the significant slacking of relief in William's angular shoulders. His neck succumbed to that temptation to loosen and weigh head forward in a roll. Wilting, limb-by-limb, it seems. And before he did give in to sagging completely down atop the sharp shape, eyes swiftly sought to recapture Jack's - to reaffirm that they were real once more, to reaffirm that those traitorously incorrect expressions were cleansed free – but honestly, the cold bitter sensation they had stirred in Will were stained to him now, difficult to diminish, now that he has seen such malice in his lover, would it always just be hiding there, waiting to come out again, whenever their eyes were closed? Will was determined to discover the cause for this, break down and dissemble it, ensure that Jack's suffering somehow stops. Somehow. Then the body did sag, until only his elbows held him up on each side of a sienna tan torso. "You're back." A hissed sigh of gratitude, eyes closing briefly. One wound in particular suddenly aching enough to draw attention. Crescent fingernail blood spots dancing up the pivots of his ribs. Pay no matter. Get to the bottom. Locate and attempt extinguishing the source. "What could you have dreamt about to disturb you so?" 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Jack's expression was a pained one for a short moment. Just a second--it crossed over his face and then was gone. Had Will blinked, he would have missed it. Slender and red-marked hands moved up from their spot above his own head to rest on Will's shoulders--wispy digits running over the skin there. Instead of answering the blacksmith's question directly, he evaded it--and quite deftly. Jack frowned, observing the other man's skin. "I hurt you," he mumbled, a little numbly. He hadn't meant to do that--it was just so -hard- to wake up sometimes. Especially when it seemed so real. There were occasional nights when he couldn't tell the past from the present. And because of that, William Turner was suffering. This was inexcusable. He was angry now, but it was only with himself. 

**- - - William - - -:**      Dismissively shaking his head, inky, damp tendrils of hair swaying in and out where they hang down, with head bowed, past shadowed chin. From his current position, it would have been a simple matter to lower his forehead completely to tuck it under Jack's jaw, it would have been easy to find that simple balance of peace again and soak more rest into his mind. It would have been. But not tonight. The nightmare outbreak had been too intense, it had happened too many times. And now, instead of falling into that temptation to let Jack win, let him have his private ghost world to himself, instead, Will needed to know. He had every damn right to understand, the tortured man was his. And now, muscles rolled, lifted and Will was sitting up again, dismounting from the tan hips and releasing his weight from Jack. "I'm more worried about you. " The tone of concern that should've been spoken with those words was a stern tone instead. The boy just sat beside him, long lanky legs folded, as though a secret meeting were taking place (in the dark, in bed) between crew member and Captain, seeming to suddenly notice his undress (or just uncomfortable and little insecure), he collected one of the blankets on his side around his shoulders, the hem of the blanket coming up around his neck like a collar of a vest. His eyes never left Jack. Analyzing. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Another slightly guilty look stood on Jack's face, before he became haughty. There was just no way that anyone spoke harshly--commandingly--at Jack and got a serious answer in return. It just wasn't probable. Not even for William Turner. Bronzed captain moved from his position as well, since Will had; he rolled over to lay on his side. One hand propped up his head and his feet crossed lazily at the ankles. And when he spoke, it was flippantly, as if they had just been discussing the weather. A self defense mechanism--whether Will knew it or not. Jack hoped for the latter. "Nothing to be concerned about. Just a bit of a tumble in a dream. Too little rum does that to a man, you know." Speaking of said liquid, he really needed a drink. His hands, he noticed, didn't want to stop shaking. Nervous much? Well, not usually. So, he hid his trembling fingers by moving his one free hand as he spoke. Silly whimsical gestures.

"Yes, far too little rum." He moved again in the bed, slender and short frame slipping free of the mattress. Bare feet touching against that cold floor--refreshing reality--as he stood. He seemed unconcerned with his own nudity; Jack never worried about being naked, he was always comfortable. Near silent feet padded over to the cabinet by the sidewall. There was rum there--and then things would be okay. 

**- - - William - - -:**     "Nothing!?" Came one of William Turner's signature breathy protests. Lip curling back without thought to them, marking his apparent opposition very clear with scowl. As though yanked by a cord tethered between them, his bedmate's departure from bed brought Will up to standing in effect. The sheet was drawn up with him and was long enough to pool around his feet where he stood, accusatory, fisting the material of the cloth. Jack's back was too him, and his lack of attention to this subject prompted Will's further frustration. It was agitation at the man's attitude stacked up on the fierce concern that festered in Will's stomach, he was terribly worried, it frightened him. Unable to nonchalantly shrug it off like his partner, the younger at least tried to calm down some before his concern made him bark with impatience. Slowly, voice low once more, requesting, "Tell me what it is, Jack." Why does this keep happening? He wanted to ask. What happened to you? And knew he wouldn't like the answer. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Jack knew Will wouldn't like the answer, either. He didn't like the answer. He didn't like thinking about the answer. Which meant that it was very unlikely that he would speak about it to answer Will's question. "It," he drawled out, lapsing into that drunken stupor mode that he walked around day to day with (without even having taken a drink, yet) "Is rum. Fine good stuff, at that." And then he took a drink. His hand held the neck of the bottle as if it would save his life--knuckled turned nearly white with grip as he drank. Luckily for him, it was dark. Will wouldn't notice things like color. He swallowed, nodded happily to himself, and then made a noise, as if remembering something, and then offered Will the bottle of rum as well. It would very likely further infuriate the boy. But it was for his own good, honestly. Or so Jack presumed. He brushed his hair back from his shoulders absently with his free hand. 

**- - - William - - -:**      Steps, now without the echo of dragging cloth, it was suddenly too hot in this room for a blanket around him, closing the distance between himself and the swaggering liar. Yes, Will was positive of Jack's dishonesty, and what had he expected? Jack had guards and walls not even he had penetrated, and it hurt as much as it disturbed him. "_'Don't touch me'_?" He recited Jack's words for him. "_'I'll kill you'_? That came from rum?" They were standing face to face with no more turning away to shield things that didn't want to be revealed. "Stop lying to me, Jack." Hard lines etched into corners of his mouth, jaw tight. If there wasn't enough light to show his exasperated skepticism, than the timbre of his voice made it known. Sparrow wouldn't get away with this, he couldn't let this go on and on until it killed him. If he didn't square with this torment on his own, Will, Jack's personal rescuer (no one else need apply), would be the one to encourage him along. "You're going to hurt yourself, damnit." Despite the beaded scratches of dry blood across his torso, it seems to be Jack's welfare was the main point. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Jack's face moved from "I'm drunk," to blank. Nothing in-between--no regret, no pain. Nothing. Jack had more barriers built than Port Royal did, and he wouldn't allow these ones to break. Another drink was taken straight from the bottle of rum, his head thrown back, and throat taking in that strong liquor for a longer drink than he should have taken. When finally done, his fingers played idly against the sides of the glass bottle; they tapped out an unknown tune, very likely made up on the spot. He met Will's gaze with little worry. He was a good liar. He was a pirate. "Not gonna hurt myself, mate. And it didn't come from rum. It came from -lack- of rum." As if to explain further, he took another drink of said liquor. He totally avoided Will's accusations about him being a liar. His mind was racing to find a way out of the whole situation--though it didn't show on his face. _I'll kill you._ Had he said that? Well, no wonder Will was demanding to know what was going on--or what -had- gone on, at least. Tension knotted in his stomach, bringing him back to the bottle in his hands. Another drink was taken. He'd truly be drunk soon if he kept it up. "No worries," he repeated as if confirming something. "So back to bed with us." Jack sounded just a little too hopeful, despite his nonchalant demeanor. 

**- - - William - - -:**      How could he stress this? Jack had a harder shell to crack than anyone (the admittedly young) Turner had ever met, or ever would, he was sure. You couldn't force a man like Jack to do anything, not even die, as so many others had tried to do before this time. Will balked, opening his palms to the air beside him, emphasizing his plea without letting Jack just close the book. "You're just going to drown out the nightmare." Eyes narrowed, speaking clearly. "Until another night. And then it shall happen all over again." These midnight outbursts were wrong, everything about them. The maliciousness in Jack's eyes, the wounds so far under his skin that Will would never find with sight, the threats, and worst above all, the way it was all dismissed when ever he would ask Jack the reason. As though something so large, deathly looming, haunting - could just vanish. The boy would be significantly proud to admit that he knew Jack Sparrow (quite intimately), and he_ knew_ it wasn't rum. "Its memories." Daring to make such a claim, willing to risk it, ready to push. "Admit that." 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      A grim and thin lipped scowl was the rewarding look that William got for his troubles and questions. He took another drink of his prized rum before bothering reply to the boys demands. And then, after licking his dry lips, he gave his lover a cool gaze. "Let it lay, William." By not truly responding to the blacksmiths questioning, he was very likely confirming his suspicions. "It doesn't matter. It's just dreams." Complete understatement--this was a line he knew he wouldn't get away with. Hell, Jack would have smacked himself for it if he thought it was wise. He swirled the bottle of rum between his fingers--an excuse to fidget, to move those long digits. He shifted position on his feet, putting his weight onto his left side, and then leaning into the cabinet behind him. He wondered how much longer William would allow him to answer with something like 'it doesn't matter'. Despite being angry about the confrontation, the back of Jack's mind was almost proud of how William put up with his own melodrama. "Bed now?" he asked it this time, as if he truly needed to gain approval from Will. Since when had that happened? -He- was the Captain, damnit! 

**- - - William - - -:**      Will, the recipient of all these lies, would not resort to mentioning the bruises and sharp nail cuts that Jack's _'just dreams'_ had_ just_ inflicted. Their height difference and close proximity gave the taller man the advantage of possible intimidation, even though nothing intimidated Jack (or so he wanted everyone to believe), and droopy eyes cast their downward angle for kohl traced ones. "What if it helped? To tell me." Calloused digits itched to touch his partner (in many a-different types of crime). He had never been a very physical affection person before (you couldn't be without parents, siblings or anyone closer to you than an alcoholic excuse for a master of his apprenticeship), but a year under Jack Sparrow's influences, now Will found himself seeking contact, warmth, to know things, to reaffirm that nothing was wrong - to set his mind at ease. His chest and stomach in turmoil, all he wanted to do was feel tan skin under his palms - he wanted so badly to go back to bed. Forget it all. But it just couldn't be forgotten, not if you truly loved someone suffering. The boy who grew up without love now knew it well - its ups and its downs. He didn't let Jack lead him back to the bed. "_Talk_ to me." Talk to Will. To William. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      "It won't -help-," said Jack, a little flatly. A little too emotionlessly. He was angry now. Lover or not, William was butting too far into his persona. His business. His past. None of his damned business. And then, he showed his anger. Bottle of rum cracked down onto the shelf of the cabinet--and it was quite a wonder that it didn't break upon impact, really--and Jack took a step forward, jabbing a finger into the chest of the much taller man. Intimidation? Not hardly--not with things like height, anyway. Grimy finger prodded into Will's chest, and it was not the reassurance either of them was looking for. Despite all this, another veil of lies was laid down--his drunken stupor was back, and in full swing. So not only was he angry, but he was pretending to be a heartless drunk at the same time. Not a good combination. But he'd started, and now there was no going back. "I'm the god damned Captain, here, an' so I won't be 'aving the likes of -you- telling me what t'do, boy." Kohl lined eyes of near obsidian were narrowed and masked with anger. 

**- - - William - - -:**     The barbed words stung Will far worse then any trifle cuts. But a swell of anger and resentment covered that up well. If Jack would lie, so would Will, and he would not give a nonsensical stubborn Sparrow the benefit of seeing the real shock of pain beneath his growl. "Then you wont be having the likes of me at all." Jack wasn't being reasonable, it had shaken him up beyond any cure tonight and William wasn't about to pin him down for answers again – one moment, wanting to touch Jack, the next, ready to flee his presence. It would do the Captain good to sleep alone. And his blacksmith would take to the bunk below deck that he had not slept in (and was probably being used by the other crew mates as storage space) for the last year. Frankly, he had just had enough of this. Of being lied to. Deceived. Will found his clothes, and only needed enough of his trousers on to get out of the bloody room. "Tell yourself the lies. I don't want them." A voice low, regretful, pained and unforgiving. The last sounds to be heard before the faithful seal of the cabin door behind him. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Jack stared at the closed cabin doors for a long while, his anger cooling with the time that passed by. Finally, the bronzed pirate shook his head--beads and baubles clicking softly at the movement, and disrupting the quiet of the empty--terribly empty--cabin. "I deserved that," he remarked to the quiet, silently berating himself. But still, the back of his mind told him, Will had been too pushy, too demanding. His secrets were his own, and he would not tell them unless it was on his own terms. He would not race after the younger boy, or apologize. Instead, he turned around to pick up that bottle of rum again. Fingers clasped tightly around the bottle, and Captain Jack Sparrow made his way back bed--the empty bed. The covers were mostly on the floor now, due to his own sleeping antics, and he didn't seem to care enough to pick them up. Instead, he sat--back pressed against the headboard--and drank. He would not sleep again tonight, so drinking seemed to be the only plan of action. And perhaps things would be better in the morning. Will, he decided haughtily, would be back. A long drink of rum was taken, burning his throat. Yes. He'd be back. 


End file.
